


Wedding Day

by OneTriesToWrite



Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe, Gundala (2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneTriesToWrite/pseuds/OneTriesToWrite
Summary: Ghazul prepares for a wedding.
Relationships: One-sided Ghazul/Ganda
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Wedding Day

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME SINCE I WROTE OH BOY GET READY TO READ SOMETHING I MADE IN ONLY 45 MINUTES YEE HAW.

Ghazul stares at his own reflection in the toilet mirror. He looks handsome, as usual, in formal attire. He looks dashing in suits, he knows this too well, especially those custom-made suits tailored just for him. He looks amazing, mesmerizing, absoutely stunning.

Even so, Ghazul feels like he’s going to throw up right now.

 _Come on, Ghani, you can do this_ , he grits his teeth, _You knew this day would come, you’ve prepared for this_.

He loosens his bow tie before closing his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He focuses on the faint sound of party outside. To the people talking, to the music playing. It’s Elvis Presley’s _Can’t Help Falling In Love_. His choice of song for this wedding. He focuses on his breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...

He feels his tense muscles loosen. It works. A small smile curves on his face, _Good, now keep it up for the next few minutes and_ —

A knock on the bathroom door, followed by a voice.

“Mr. Zulham, it’s almost time.”

 _Shit_.

Nervousness creeping back to him. Ghazul splashes his face with cold water and fixes his tie hastily. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He’s not ready for this. God knows he’ll never be ready for this. His shaking hands only mess the tie he’ spent over twenty minutes putting on. Fuck this.

The knock continues. He doesn’t bother to answer, too busy holding back a frustated scream. His breathing is now hard and rushing. He’s hyperventilating. _Oh for fuck’s sake_. He covers his mouth, trying to ease his breathing. The sound of people talking, music playing, and water running fill his mind. He feels like he’s going to cry, or throw up his lunch, or both, right in this second.

 _Fuck no, get a grip, Ghani Zulham_ , he almost screams.

“5 minutes, Mr. Zulham.”

“Fuck,” the curse escapes his mouth. He lightly slaps himself in the face. Once and another one follows, maintaining intense eye contact with the reflection in the mirror staring back at him.

“You can do this,” he practically hisses.

 _I can’t_ , the reflection replies.

“You can. Oh you most definitely can. You’ve done _things_ , how can you not do _this_?” Great, now Ghani Zulham is talking to himself. Amazing what stress can do to people.

“You can do this. Nay, you’ve gotta do this.”

He lightly pats cold water on his face, hopefully it will also shake the negative thoughts away.

The knocking begins again.

“2 minutes.”

_On second thought—no, you CAN do this, Ghani Zulham. You’ve gotta do this. Remember. You do this for **him**._

Ghazul was so close to crying his frustation out but he’s doing a marvelous job holding it back.

 _Do it for **him**_ , he repeats the words in his head. **_Him_** _. Think about **him**. Think of **his** happiness. You’re doing this for **him**. For **his** happiness, for **his** sake. You’re doing this for **him** because **he** asked you to. You’re doing this for **him** because you love **him**._

His heart clenches at the last thought and tear escapes from the corner of his eye before finally a quiet sob follows.

Ghani Zulham makes his way back to his seat. He slumps down on the chair as he pulls up some notes from his suit. He sighs as he reads the words. The words he’d spent days on making because he doesn’t know what to write in there. He hates being sentimental, it’s a sign of weakness. So why does he even bother making notes, _F_ _uck it_ , he’ll just say the first thing that crosses his mind, he thinks before finally ripping the notes with his own hands and throws them under his seat.

There goes the nights he didn’t sleep for. Useless.

He glances at the newly wed couple sitting on the table not far from him. Ganda Hamdan and the bride—his _wife_. They’re smiling, staring at each other. Ganda holding his _wife_ ’s hands tenderly. A silver ring on his finger. A ring Ghazul helped him choose months ago.

 _Fuck_.

“And now, a word from the groom’s best man, Mr. Ghani Zulham.”

Ghazul’s stomach is churning, his hands are shaking, his legs feel weak, and he’s on the verge of tears.

He can do this.


End file.
